


Fire

by malevolosidade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolosidade/pseuds/malevolosidade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan never has any doubts. Just before the 2012 season, however, something gets to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to take part during an Austrian winter camp Dan and Jean-Éric took part in 2012 (and of which a silly little video about it with them can be found here: http://www.redbull.com/cs/Satellite/en_INT/Video/Our-Austrian-Adventure-021243154175430). Special thanks to the lovely Zera Parker, who has betaed this. That is pretty much it, hope you enjoy the fic! :)

“It’s been a nice little Skype session, hasn’t it?” Dan asks, casting an inquisitive look at Jean-Éric before blowing some air into his cupped hands and rubbing his palms together; by his side, Jean-Éric can only shake his head in disagreement.  
  
“I doubt they can salvage anything from it.”  
  
“Come on, it wasn’t  _that_  bad.”  
  
“You were giggling too much throughout the whole thing, for starters,” Jean-Éric continues, a mild tone of mock contempt to his voice, “and either way, I don’t think the sound turned out fine, apparently the mic was somehow picking up even the ambient music in the hallway. I won’t be surprised if we have to do another one tomorrow evening.”  
  
Dan rolls his eyes.  
  
“You’re too damn serious for your own good, JEV. And the video’s gonna be fine, we won’t need to do it again. Plus, where would they have us record it? Outside in the snow?”  
  
It’s Jean-Éric’s turn to roll his eyes at Dan’s faked indignation as he holds the ancient lift door open for the Australian. Having finished recording a short Skype session for Toro Rosso’s PR team, it’s time for dinner; it’s not a long way from the room they are sharing for the duration of the pre-season winter camp. They go from the third floor, through the austere ornaments and leather couches of the main hall and through two or three terracotta-colored corridors until they finally reach their destination. By the time they arrive, the elegant chairs are mostly empty; only a few guests are still dinning in scattered tables across the lavish hall. Jean-Éric had wanted to go ahead with their last work commitment of the day and then to dinner; Dan, evidently, wanted the exact opposite, as it often happened with them. A short discussion had ensued, but by the time they were about to begin recording, they had already patched things up. Now, however, Dan smiles knowingly, ready to make a point.  
  
“I told you we should have eaten before calling Faenza.”  
  
“It should be okay, there are still people dining.”  
  
“There aren’t even any waiters around anymore, look.” He raises an arm towards the tables. “There won’t be any dinner left for us either.”  
  
“You always get so grumpy when you haven’t eaten in a while, it’s unbelievable,” Jean-Éric deadpans, shaking his head in disbelief first before grinning. “I should have gotten you a pack of crisps from the vending machine when I had the chance, it’d have soothed you.”  
  
“Crisps are good if you’re drinking beer with your friends and it’s sunny and summery outside, which is definitely not the case right now,” Dan explains matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s got to have actual food for this dreary weather we’re currently in, mate. Nice, warm, tasty food to fill this belly right here.”  
  
Jean-Éric’s eyes follow Dan’s hand as it taps his stomach; his stare lingers a moment longer than it should have, but he doesn’t make a point of pretending it didn’t or pretending Dan didn’t notice it did. He glances at him briefly, unashamed, then realizes there’s a waiter standing at the back of the hall, a few feet away from a brick fireplace.  
  
“Chill out, Dan, the waiters aren’t gone. We’ll get dinner soon.”  
  
It’s been a long day, it’s cold out there, and Dan might have chosen to sit on the sidelines for the day, sipping warm beverages while Jean-Éric and the rest of the team decided to start an impromptu skiing competition, but it’s been tiring nonetheless; it was the only day out of their whole stay in Austria that he chose to stay away from the activities. It’s been a long day, but it’s finally over, and he’s never been more glad to be inside, wrapped in fleece and wool and about to have a sumptuous dinner with Jean-Éric.  
  
It’s been a long day, he’s tired, and yet he still feels restless.  
  


***

  
“What are you thinking of?” Jean-Éric asks, genuinely curious, as they wait for their meals to arrive. They were ushered to a table in the center of the hall, two tables away from the fireplace on their right. While the warmth was certainly something Jean-Éric would not discard at all in such extreme conditions, Dan seemed enticed by the crackling sound and sight of burning flame from the beginning, only moving his eyes away from them when necessary. He couldn’t help but notice Dan was not quite himself that day, since early morning when they woke up; as odd as that would sound to anyone if he actually told them, Dan actually seemed  _troubled_ by something, and he had no idea what that was. Dan was never as impenetrable as he was at that moment to Jean-Éric, peering into the fire in an attempt to find something he wasn’t quite sure to have been missing in the first place.  
  
“Huh, nothing,” Dan murmurs vaguely, caught by surprise, tugging at his knitted cap and tossing it on the empty chair by his side. An explosion of curls immediately sticks up, unruly and unkempt, but he is so taken by the view he doesn’t even try to straighten it out. “Nothing, really.”  
  
“Is everything alright?”  
  
Dan gives him a puzzled look.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You’re too quiet.”  
  
Dan bites his lower lip, suddenly too self-conscious for his own liking, shifting his gaze from Jean-Éric’s prying eyes to the silverware resting on the table, nudging his fork a little to the left and telling himself it’s because it was a little out of place, it was a little astray just like he was -- it was either that brief bit of diversion or actually allowing Jean-Éric to see the mild flush on his cheeks as a result of the suggestion he has been paying enough attention to him to realize he’s been quieter than usual; were this another occasion, another place, another time, he would have been more daring, but this time, he chose the easy way out of the situation.  
  
“I’m tired, that’s all.”  
  
Jean-Éric remains unconvinced tiredness is the sole reason for his sudden change of behavior, but decides to drop the matter for the moment.  
  
“You should come skiing with us tomorrow.”  
  
“Nah, I’m no good at it. I’ll wind up with a broken limb or two right before pre-season testing and not only will that be no fun  _at all_ , it’s not like I’m going to give you any edge.”  
  
“You’ve raced in F1 for half a season, you already have some edge over me, whether I like it or not,” Jean-Éric points out, shrugging. “Of course, that means it’s gonna be even better when I get to beat you on the track this year.”  
  
Dan slouches back in the seat, throaty laughter bursting from his lips at the preposterous notion that he’ll be beaten by  _Jean-Éric_ of all people the upcoming season.  
  
“I’m so very sorry, but I  _so_  won’t let that happen.”  
  
Jean-Éric laughs along, glad to see that he was right; the Daniel Ricciardo he has grown used to has not been abducted or taken away. He might not have yet gotten to the core of what is ailing him, he might not have been able to pull him out of this temporary stillness he finds himself stuck in, but Dan is still there. Temporarily hidden behind darker eyes and brief words for reasons that may or may not be of his concern, yes, but when he laughs, there’s the glimmer in the corner of his eye Jean-Éric knows to be true, and that’s enough for him. He feels relieved, in an odd but absolute way, to actually be certain that no matter what happens, Dan remains true to who he is.  
  
“About the skiing, though, you should give it a try. You’d enjoy it. You don’t need to go crazy over it, even though I know there’s no use telling you to not go crazy.” Jean-Éric takes a sip from his glass of water and grins, casting him a sideways glance. “I also know you get antsy when you want to get in the action but at the same time thinking you shouldn’t.”  
  
Dan laughs again, but this time it doesn’t come out as easily as before; he half-wishes he was drinking something so that he could take a sip as well to hide his growing blush. If it was an alcoholic drink at that, it’d be even better, so he’d have something to distract himself from the fact that Jean-Éric is doing it again, he’s dropping hints, he’s making sure Dan knows that  _he knows._  Of course, the two of them have known each other for long enough now to pick up on all the small details of each other’s behavior and moods even if there was nothing else to it, and it wouldn’t be odd for Jean-Éric to pick up on that, as it isn’t odd that he too picks up on Jean-Éric. But the thing is, there  _is_ something else to it, there always was and there always would be, and there was no use pretending there wasn’t.  
  
“You make it sound like I’m an animal sometimes,” Dan protests, leaning in closer, his tone hushed. “I’m not half as crazy as you make me out to be.”  
  
“Oh, but you  _are_  an animal,” Jean-Éric says, emphasizing the statement by casting Dan what’s possibly the most pointed look he has ever received in his life. “ _On occasion_ , you certainly are.”      
  
By then, fully aware of what Jean-Éric means, Dan gives up the pretense entirely.  
  


***

  
“Happy now?”  
  
Dan nods enthusiastically, briefly setting down the spoon he’s holding.  
  
“Oh,  _yes_. Yeah, absolutely. Hey, you know what, you could do me a favor and carry me back to the room once we’re done here.”  
  
It’s an odd mental image, but Jean-Éric does not attempt to suppress a smile.  
  
“ _Carry_ you? I’m not going to carry you! You’re too heavy!”  
  
Dan laughs.  
  
“Is it because I’m too heavy, or is it because you’re too weak to carry me?”  
  
“No, that’s definitely your fault, you’re too heavy! Not to mention really lazy too!” Jean-Éric is laughing along now, freely, almost carelessly, and it feels good to be taken over by a lightheadedness he hadn’t felt in a while. It makes sense that it happens now; Dan’s often to blame for those. “I guess I could just kind of push you along the hallways, maybe, and then you’d kind of roll along. It’d be so,  _so_ much easier. Is that good enough for you? What do you say?”  
  
“I think- I think you just don’t want to strain yourself, you  _big wuss_.” Dan raises an arm, fist clenched. “Look at those muscles! I’m not heavy, I’m  _strong_.”  
  
“That’s what you are, you’re heavy as hell.” Jean-Éric rolls his eyes, but not out of annoyance. “Just finish your dessert already, come on.”  
  
“Way to change the subject, JEV. Now you sound like my dad.” He swoops up another spoonful of  _crème brûlée_. “I’m strong and I know it. Not heavy. You understand?”  
  
Jean-Éric crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, smiling all the while.  
  
“Keep telling yourself that, Dan, if it makes you feel better.”  
            
“Totally strong,” he mutters under his breath, brow furrowed as he pokes at the caramel topping with the tip of the spoon. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”  
  
By the time Dan is finished with the dessert -- because yes, of course Dan did go so far as to order dessert for both of them even if Jean-Éric was against the idea in the first place;  _if we’re gonna have a proper dinner, it’s got to have all the courses_  was the rationale used -- attendance in the dining hall has dropped to single digits, reduced to the two of them and a table further back with two or three guests appearing to be as tired and as full as they are. Jean-Éric yawns messily and stretches; Dan watches him with mellow eyes. He considers checking what time it is on his watch, but changes his mind almost immediately; it doesn’t matter. It’s all been satisfying to him: the meal and the chatter that unraveled as the minutes went and the hours disappeared, the ambiance and the warmth of the fireplace, and last but not least Jean-Éric’s company, it’s all fine.  
  
He can’t find a single thing to complain about, really, and yet something sets off in the back of his mind and settles down on his thoughts all over again.

 

***

  
When they eventually head back to the third floor, it’s a silent way they choose to take. By then, even the ambient music has been turned off and all the hallways and corridors they come across are barely lit, only illuminated by round, wall-mounted lamps casting a pale shade of yellow around them. They walk side by side, each immersed in their own thoughts. Jean-Éric admits his are not the deepest or most meaningful of them, given the lateness of the hour; they idle and meander around, counting down the room numbers as they go; Dan, on the other hand, seems far more focused in whatever it is that he’s thinking, his head lowered and his hands firmly stuck on his pockets, reticence laid thick upon him.  
  
“JEV.”  
  
“What’s it?”  
  
For a moment, Dan looks like he might regret what he’s about to ask, or that he might come to regret the sudden decision to open up to his future competition, but chooses to go on nonetheless; when was Jean-Éric  _not_  his competition? Did he not share that kind of concern before with him, in shared time before the beginning of a season, in sleepless nights before a crucial race was to take place?  _It’s just Jean-Éric, good old JEV. There’s still room for this kind of conversation to take place, for this kind of doubt to rise_ , he reasons.  _It’s not over yet, you can still talk to him like you did before, like you always did._  
  
“Do you think it’s gonna be tough?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“This year, I mean.” He continues before looking down at the intricately woven carpet, ashamed of something he’s not even quite sure of what it actually is. “Do you think it’s gonna be tough on us?”  
  
 _So that’s what the awkwardness is all about_ , Jean-Éric finally realizes, surprised to an extent that this was the reason for his unusual sullenness, but understanding it still.  
  
“Well, it’s gonna be tougher than it was back at World Series, that’s for sure. There’ll be a whole different set of expectations and objectives we’ll have to fulfill. It’s gonna be tougher for you, it’s gonna be tougher for me too. I’m the newcomer, after all, you already have some experience under your belt. And they’ll be looking at us a  _lot_ more closely now, they’ll be demanding more of us.” He scratches at the back of his head. “It’s not really going to be easy, but come on, you’re not one to be unmotivated like that.”  
  
Dan glances at him, a mildly defeated air to his figure.  
  
“I’m not really unmotivated, how can I be unmotivated at the prospect of beating you all season long?” Jean-Éric gives him a glare and a nudge of the elbow in the rib; Dan grins cheekily at him for a second only to drop it immediately afterwards. “I’m just... feeling mixed. Mixed emotions, I guess. A little nervous, a little excited, a little apprehensive, a little eager, a little anxious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in the one place I’ve always wanted to be, so I can finally show what I’m capable of to the people I  _must_  show what I’m capable of. I wouldn’t want to give this up or give it away even if I was forced to. I still feel a little weird about it, though. And then I begin to feel weird  _about_  feeling weird about it, which is something else entirely.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s bad that you’re feeling like this, really,” Jean-Éric begins, his tone calm, his intentions true. “I think it’s normal, even. Aren’t we both worried about it? I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t take me some time until I fall asleep every night because I get on thinking about pre-season testing, and then about the season itself, because it does.” He pauses, feeling Dan’s eyes on him. “It’s a good kind of worrying, though.”  
  
“Is there really such a thing as a good kind of worrying?”  
  
Jean-Éric shrugs.  
  
“I guess so. It means we care, and because of that, we worry.”  
  
Dan acquiesces in silence, still crestfallen; in turn, Jean-Éric frowns.       
  
“That’s not all that’s troubling you though, is it?”  
  
Dan looks at him briefly; there’s hurting in his eyes, there’s something there that shouldn’t be a part of him at all, and Jean-Éric didn’t expect to be so taken aback by it.  
  
“Yeah,” he answers, but not before hesitating once again. His lips curve down, his brow knits in frustration. “I’m not that good at hiding things, am I?”  
  
Jean-Éric wraps a comforting arm around Dan’s shoulders, bringing him nearer; he doesn’t need to worry about someone seeing them by then, and come to think of it, he doesn’t quite  _mind_  being seen like that. It doesn’t matter, not when Dan is behaving the way he is, not when he has such an air of dejection to his figure; Jean-Éric is still there to listen, he’s still there to talk, he’s still there to help in any way he can. Dan knows that, otherwise he wouldn’t have started that conversation at all; still, he was hesitant, and that affected Jean-Éric in a way he hadn’t predicted. Why would he hesitate? Why would he be afraid?  
  
What had changed?  
  
“You were never good at that in the first place, Dan,” he gently replies. “There’s the silence, the short answers, it’s like you’re someone else entirely.”  
  
Jean-Éric is not lying. Dan’s too much of an open book to be able to disguise what he truly feels at any given moment. When there is a shadow of something hanging above him, he’s quieter, easily unsettled, hard to get a hang of, all turned into outward brevity and inward confusion. It’s like a light goes out inside of him, not as loud as he usually is but with a meek, distasteful puff; he becomes cold and still, devoid of the warmth he is known for. Sooner or later, Jean-Éric would have asked again if something was wrong, nonetheless, not only because he doesn’t like to see him like that, but for something else as well-  
  
“I’m worried about what’s going to become of us.”  
  
There it goes, out in the open with no previous warning, as is customary of Daniel. There’s only the smallest hint of emotion to Dan’s voice; its impact on Jean-Éric is brisk and straight to the point. He was tranquil until then, his mind undisturbed, his world arranged in such a way there was balance to be found in the relationship they forged over the years. Now, however, those words came down on him like a stone rippling on still waters; the words came down on him and stirred something awake in his core.  
  
“Nothing is going to happen to us.”  
  
He speaks, and yet he’s not certain what he is saying, of whether that reassurance is more for Dan, who seems to have realized it first, for himself, who is late in the game and unwilling to accept a change in them for the moment, or for both of them equally.  
  
“Things are going to be different, you know it.  
  
“I know they will,” he continues. “But it won’t interfere in what we have.”  
  
Jean-Éric fishes out the keycard from his pocket upon arriving and they filter in, silence trailing close behind. Dan immediately approaches the wide window across the room and there’s nothing but the black starless sky splayed all over it; the only sound he hears now is the restless howling of the wind stirring tree branches down below. He peers outside and sees only the dark; he peers outside and it feels like staring into a black mirror, facing nothing but a faded reflection of himself in tones of orange and pale yellow that is not himself at all. First he watched the fire, now he watches the darkness, and yet no answer comes to his mind; nothing placates the feeling of loss that lurks and creeps inside.   
  
 _Has the time come at last?_ Dan wonders, and something in his reflection says yes.  
  
A few feet behind him, Jean-Éric has turned on the lamp between their twin beds and given thought to what he has just said; he is suddenly taken by a sudden fear the exact opposite will happen and by the end of the season there is no longer any kind of relationship, amiable or otherwise, between them, that all that will be left are good mornings and separate tables and debriefings and inane chatter about the weather. His stomach lurches at the thought. It  _cannot_  -- it  _won’t_  end like this, it shouldn’t end like this, he can’t let that happen. Dan is just as afraid as he is, Jean-Éric can see it clearly now; he just seems to have caught up earlier with that fear. He too should have given proper thought to it, to this circumstance they find themselves in, to what this year entails, to what they are about to become. But he did not; Dan did all the thinking for once, and there they are now, stuck to this impossibility.  
  
He thinks of something that might describe Dan well; suddenly, something comes to mind.  
  
“Do you remember Estoril?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Back in 2007. When we got accepted into the Junior Team.”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
Dan doesn’t dare to look at him, not once; he’s still too lost in that cold void to pay any attention to Jean-Éric or to what he is saying. It shouldn’t hurt, it shouldn’t like  _that_ , but it does; it hurts them both, it hurts so that Dan seems to be on the verge of tears and Jean-Éric chooses to approach him at last. If that is meant to be a moment of emotional submission for both, so be it; if that’s the moment to open up, if that’s the moment to lay everything bare, if that’s the moment to rekindle what threatens to disappear, then he is ready. He is ready for whatever it takes; he is ready to protect the flame in any way he can, carefully cupping a hand around it just as he takes another step closer to Dan; making sure it doesn’t die down as he opens his mouth and breathes in to begin speaking.  
  
“We didn’t really talk to each other back then because we had only been introduced to each other maybe two or three days before, but there you were on the track, so fast, so competitive, so confident.” He pauses, watching Dan’s hunched figure by the window. “And then there was that dinner we all went to together, when the tests ended. Remember we all shelled out some money and bought a cake for one of the boys whose birthday was coming up? You were sitting right across him, and when the waitress brought it to our table, candles burning and all, your whole face lit up. You laughed and were the first to begin singing happy birthday, and as I sang along, I looked at you and that’s when I realized you had this fire to yourself. That fire propelled you forward, that fire made you alive.”  
  
“What are you getting to?”  
  
“We began to talk, we hit it off. We grew closer. We learned to respect each other. We raced together and we fought together, and all we did together only strengthened that first impression I had. You were fire. You’d always be fire. Fierce, determined. Pushing me just as forward as it pushes you.” He embraces Dan, arms tight around his waist. “I can’t bear to see your fire go out.”  
  
Dan sighs, head still lowered.  
  
“JEV, don’t.”  
  
“Don’t take your fire away from me, Dan.”  
  
“Please, don’t do this.”  
  
Jean-Éric’s distress is evident in his voice, in his words, in the clutch his arms have on Dan; the brief kiss he chooses to leave on the back of Dan’s neck simply confirms it. Dan breathes in sharply and shuts his eyes, his body tense all of a sudden. How could such a small gesture have so deep an effect on him? He feels shaken, heart beating out of pace, mind engulfed by a multitude of thoughts running wild; no, he would be fooling himself if he believed that to be a small gesture. That should not be how he should be feeling, not that confusion again, not that inflamed sensation rising in waves from the pit of his stomach; not the sensation of yearning he meant to discard the day he stepped into Austria and yet resisted in doing so. But here he is, wrapped in Jean-Éric’s arms again, here he is doubting his decision to act as if there was nothing between them, here he is thinking he should have known it would not be an easy end and the end was not to be as it should have been.  
  
In a heartbeat, he has given up the thinking and the doubting, if only for a night; in a heartbeat, he turns around and they are kissing again. Hungrily, angrily, an entire spectrum of emotions moves their lips and their arms in the way it was meant to be; their previous denial only serving to amplify them. Maybe, ultimately, they are nothing but moths, equally fascinated by each other’s light, equally fascinated by each other’s fire. Indeed, Dan thinks, if he has a fire in himself, then he is not the only one. This is true of Jean-Éric as well; manifested by a different manner of being and behaving, yes, but a fire lives inside him nonetheless, in his obstinacy and his sense of purpose, in his tenacity and his resolution. If Jean-Éric’s fire is burning, then his fire burns in return; if Dan’s fire burns bright, Jean-Éric’s fire responds brighter than before, and so on. Not clashing or battling, but mutually uniting themselves over the challenge, over the desire, over all that binds them together.  
  
“Are you sure about this?”  
  
It’s tentative, just making sure they’re on the same page, just making sure they understand the implications, just so Dan can catch his breath when they part.  
  
“I am, yes.” Jean-Éric nods, looking him in the eye. “I am.”  
  
It doesn’t take long until he finds himself sprawled all over Dan, a mess of clothes and bed covers littering the floor between their twin beds, hands adventurous as he thrusts their hips together and Dan gasps and groans into their kiss. It’s not their first time together, so there’s no longer the need to go easy; by now, they are more than aware of each small learnt secret and each whispered command made before, they are fully aware of what makes each other twist and bend, they already know what best feeds their shared fire. It’s not their first time together, but this time it feels different, as if the weight of their resolution had set something off inside them; something that was already there but unharmed thus far.  
  
Dan rolls him over easily and pins his arms over his head with a grin before ducking down to kiss his collarbone and bite at his neck; Jean-Éric scratches and grazes at his back with his fingertips, nudging him to not stop, to keep moving further down, and it’s just like he remembered. Dan’s hot to the touch and he wants him too much to not bear that. It’s a strong grasp he’s got on his hips to keep them moving in pace with each other; it’s a much stronger grasp Dan has on his heart. Strong enough to crush it to pieces, but he doesn’t; strong enough to grind it to dust, but he won’t. Jean-Éric tangles a hand in his curls to bring him in closer, to savor his soft moaning as he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes him.  
  
There’s shuddering as the movement intensifies, up and down and around the head, spreading pre-come over it in the most deliberate way he knows, and Dan’s already ridiculously, unashamedly turned on over the whole thing. Soon enough he’s gonna need the release, soon enough he’s gonna want the relief, but he doesn’t quite rush anything yet. He chooses to focus on the sensations instead, on the feel of his hands, in the manner which Jean-Éric dedicates to readying himself to the next step, in the way the orange light washes their bodies over with an otherworldly glow. It’s beautiful, the fire that rises from inside, the fire that defines them, the fire that lights their caresses and their kisses, the fire they make together.  
  
“I want you inside me,” Jean-Éric eagerly rasps in his ear. “Right now. You ready?”  
  
Dan can only nod in agreement, shifting around to wrap his legs around Jean-Éric’s body and tug him tightly between his arms. He quiets down for a moment, pressing two fingers to Jean-Éric’s lips; they’re taken in and greedily sucked on, and Dan makes this  _sound_  when Jean-Éric runs his tongue between his fingers and bites at the flesh, this cross of a whimper and a moan right in his ear and he’ll be damned if he isn’t on the brink of arousal already. Dan pulls away and scissors Jean-Éric with wet fingers before slowly pushing himself in; Jean-Éric tenses up for a second and arches his hips into Dan, and it takes a calming hand to his stomach and a murmured apology followed by a kiss full on his lips for him to ease down at once.   
  
Jean-Éric swallows dry when Dan starts riding him, but soon it’s all gone; pleasure outweighs the pain and he cannot focus on anything else other than the moment. Dan’s wrapped around him, heaving and gasping on the curve of his neck, shivers running down their spines as they catch up, fingers entwining so that he can lead one of Dan’s hands to jerk him off as they go on, jumbled words falling out of their open lips in breathless unison. Dan closes his eyes as he finds himself increasingly getting closer, closer to the end, closer to be consumed by the endless fire, and he loses it when Jean-Éric comes first, all over their hands, a deep groan escaping his lips as Dan follows suit.  
  
Neither dares to move at first, still reeling from the heat, still regaining conscience after what has just happened. Jean-Éric remains burrowed inside Dan’s arms, thinking perhaps his fire was one he should have better never touched, otherwise their relationship would not be what it became over the years. However, he could never look away from it, and by not looking away, how could he not want to touch it? How could he not wish for it to remain an indispensable part of his life for as long as he could have it? He couldn’t; he never fought against it, and ultimately, it was a risk worth taking.  
  
Dan speaks first, and of course it’s something that comes out of nowhere.  
  
“My headphones.”  
  
" _What_  on Earth are you talking about?”  
  
“My headphones, they were in your pocket. I asked you to save them for me when the Skype call ended!” He scrambles over Jean-Éric’s chest, peering over the edge of the bed with a concerned look to his face. “If they got broken or smashed when you threw your jeans on the floor, I’m  _finishing_  you.”  
  
Jean-Éric bursts out laughing.  
  
“Wow, Dan. That’s terrible, terrible pillow talk. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He raises an eyebrow, nudging at Dan to take him back into his arms. “And if I remember correctly,  _you_  were the one who threw my jeans on the floor. Blame’s all on you if they’re actually broken.”  
  
Dan remains concerned for another moment until he glares at Jean-Éric.  
  
“Oh, now you’re gonna say that again, that I’m an animal, aren’t you?”  
  
“I’ll keep quiet this time, I promise,” he answers, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning ear to ear. “I won’t say a thing.”  
  
Dan shakes his head and gives Jean-Éric another peeved look before stretching and making himself comfortable on the bed again.  
  
“You are unbelievable! You’re totally thinking about it!”  
  
“Fine, I am thinking about it,” he concedes, his tone earnest, lying down by Dan’s side. “But you can always try to get me thinking about  _something else_ , you know.”  
  
"I guess I’ll have to try and do my best, then.” Dan smiles mischievously, his fingertips dancing over Jean-Éric’s belly; there’s a ripple of sensation as their lips meet for a brief kiss. When Dan pulls back up, his features are easy, just like they were the first time Jean-Éric saw them. It’s all back to normal, it’s all how it’s meant to be. “I… I’m glad you were sure, by the way.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m glad too.” Jean-Éric nods, reaching out to stroke Dan’s hair. “We’re gonna work it out, you’ll see. We can do this together.”  
  
“Like it always was, right?”  
  
“Like it always was.”  
  
Deep within that certainty, they are sure it’ll last and they are sure they have all they need to make it last; they have the spark and the zeal, they have the determination and the will to make it work. Deep within that validation, they move in for another kiss, and they know there is nothing that can tear apart what has been forged over time.  
  
There is nothing able to break a bond built by fire.

  
**\---the end---**   



End file.
